


Enigma

by uglyinternet



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Drama, Drug Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Politics, Presidents Daughter, Smut, Toxic Family Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyinternet/pseuds/uglyinternet
Summary: Faye Underwood was not the perfect presidents daughter her mother wanted, or painted her to be. Even before her father had passed Faye had not listened to rules or guidelines. Or played the role of perfect daughter. But after her father dies she seems to dismiss them completely and a strong hatred for her mother grows within her. And when she hears of all the ways the infamous Shepherds have been trying to get under her mothers skin, their disliking of her seeming to match the same as hers. It doesn't take faye long to devise a plan to not only annoy her mother but possibly betray her.





	1. The Selfishness Of An Addict

**Author's Note:**

> this will be an au and will not follow past events on the show, mostly, so don’t be alarmed if some events are missing or made up!

Faye did not consider herself an addict. Even as she snorted the white powder off of the glass coffee table that sat in the middle of the suites make shift living room. Holding the bridge of her nose as it burned her nasal cavity. A proud smirk on her face as the crowd around her cheered and she passed the rolled up hundred dollar bill onto the next person. 

No, she wouldn't consider herself an addict. She just liked to have fun. She liked to clear her head, from thoughts that couldn't be turned off any other way than filling herself up with alcohol, drugs, or even sex. She liked shutting her brain off from the constant nagging of her mother on how she should be acting and how she was expected to do this, to do that. She liked going to parties where everyone treated her normal. Not like the presidents daughter, untouchable and sacred. 

She liked to escape even more so now that her father was dead. A tragedy that not only shocked the nation but her. When she had woken up on that horrible morning, her mother telling her that her father had passed in his sleep, she had thought she was playing some kind of cruel joke on her. A sick punishment for being so close to him and not her. But it hadn't been a joke and she had lost it, dropping to her knees and wailing out a cry. She ran to his bedroom in hopes that it was some cruel joke, but he wasn't there. His bed had looked like it hadn't been slept in. The blankets, the sheets, the pillows were perfect. Her mother had tried to console her but she pushed her open arms away. She climbed into her father's bed and held his pillow to her chest and cried and cried until she felt numb. 

She had lost her father, her best friend and everyone else around her acted as if it was not that big of a deal. Her mother had been appointed president. Something that didn't surprise her but made her distaste for her mother grow stronger. They hadn't even buried her father and her mother was already acting as if everything was alright, the way it should be, that everything had fallen into place and now she was ruling over America and everything was fine. But everything was not fine. Not to Faye. She didn't recall seeing her mother cry for her father, not once. It should not have shocked her. Their relationship had always been toxic and love hate. She never understood how they stayed married for so long. But with her father being the president and all of the sketchy dealings and smoke screens he had put up to hide her from being in his world too much, explained to her enough to know why they never got a divorce. 

She had heard once that her mother had filled for it. But she never went through with it. Sometimes she wished she had. She would of course choose to stay with her father, and maybe he would still be alive if they had. But she knew her mother was too bitter and strong as a woman to let her father win at anything.

She didn't believe that her father, who was not ill, nor that old, had died in his sleep. Simply and just like that. Her father was a fighter. A son of bitch for all intense purposes. He wouldn't of went out like that. She knew that. She felt that. And yet everyone still chose to lie to her. As if she were some child who could not handle the truth. It sickened her. It ripped her a part. 

So here she was at some random hotel party she had heard about through a friend. A friend who advised her she shouldn't go. The goers at this party did not have the best reputation, known for having illegal drugs and activity at their parties, that always seemed to get busted, not a place where the presidents daughter should be. But Faye didn't care. She needed to leave her house. She needed to get away from her mother. She needed to climb out from under the tight thumb that her mother had pushed down on her since her father's passing, not wanting her daughter to go out and do something drastic, or make a fool out of herself, or her mother. 

But the echoing in her head of voices and commands and thoughts of her father were too much. She didn't like to cry. To let her feelings out so maybe those emotions in her head would dissolve, not make her feel like shit. And Faye was Faye, her old habits died hard and she snuck out. Having lived in the White House her entire life she had learned ways to slip through the cracks, to not get caught or trigger an alarm. 

She had done drugs before, marijuana, mushrooms, cocaine, even stolen some of her mothers pills from her cabinet. Drugs were not a new territory for her. She didn't shy away from them, she didn't look down on them. She did them when she felt like it, when she needed an escape. If she didn't steal the liquor out of her mothers cabinet or one of her many booty calls were too busy, then drugs were the next best thing to her. But she didn't do them often enough to consider herself an addict. They weren't something she needed. She would go for a good fuck before she did drugs. 

But tonight she needed them, and she got them. She stopped count of how many lines she had sniffed up her nose after the third one. The effects of the liquor and whatever pills were handed to her at the door making her brain to hazy to remember, to think about anything. And yet the thought of her father was still there. 

She felt as if she were going to be sick each time she closed her eyes and saw his face. Bile threatening at the back of her throat. But she pushed it down with another shot, and another one. 

She stood in the middle of the room, the music booming in her ear, the loud voices of everyone talking and screaming echoing through her. She was sure she was past her limit of narcotics, and the liquor was starting to taste like water meaning she was past the point of no return. But she needed something else to cease her mind. 

And as her eyes scanned the vast room, she soon found her solution. A tall boy, tan skin, messy hair, and he was looking her way with a smirk on his face. It made her laugh. She liked it when guys made it easy. Just one look and she knew they were down. She hated all that guess work. She wanted to fuck not fill out an entire questionnaire on who they were or what boring college they went to. 

He wasn't her type by any means. He looked like he had just stepped out from the clichésist fraternity in America. But he wasn't ugly and she wasn't about to get picky now. 

Faye knew her value. Her father had put it in her head since she can remember being able to comprehend what was being said to her. He had made sure his daughter knew how special she was, how great, how better than everyone else she was. He had told his little girl everyday that she was beautiful as ever, always talked her up, made it seem as if she were a shinning star amongst dull ones. 

She knew that she was better than everyone at this party. Better than this guy she was about to take into some room and fuck. She knew. But Faye barley did things that were best for her. She barley listened to the little voices in her head that made sense out of the bullshit. She acted first and thought later. A trait that kept her in constant trouble growing up. But being the daughter to the president made her bad deeds easy to sweep under the rug. 

Faye wasn't perfect. But to her father she was. His perfect girl who could do no wrong. Who was going to rule the world someday. 

And now he was gone and she was left with her mother. Who even standing beside she felt alone. He was gone and she was making too many bad decisions to count and she was sure her father was looking down at her in whatever afterlife there was with a disappointed look on his face. 

But she wouldn't be able to think about all that soon. She would be too busy with whatever this guys name was. All of her thoughts would be filled and drove by desire and that was better than any drug she had taken tonight. 

Her hands held tightly onto the boys hand as they weaved in and out of the groups of people that filled the suite, leading her to the nearest free room he could find. Once they had reached an empty bathroom, the boy double checking to make sure the room was free as he gripped the door handle in his sweaty palm, turning to her to give her a mischievous smirk, that quickly faded once his eyes looked past her and to whomever was behind them. 

Faye feeling a hand wrap around her arm in a tight grip before she's even able to turn around to see what the hold up is. And when she does turn and her eyes are met with the face of her bodyguard she smirks. 

"It took you long enough. I thought she would never find me. Thought I might actually get away with having a little fun tonight." She laughs. She knew eventually her mother would notice she had snuck out. She always did. It was like a sixth sense. She may not have been close to her daughter, but she always felt when she was gone. Always knew, even without knowing she had left. Faye was sure it had something to do with science and mothers always having intuition when it came to their children. 

"It's time to go." Her bodyguard, Malcom, demands. He doesn't wait for a reply as he pulls her arm, his grip tight so she couldn't slip out of it as they walk through the suite. People staring and laughing in her dispense. In which she winks and blows them kisses, as one did when they were making a grand exit. She knew how to make an entrance and she knew how to leave a lasting impression. A trait she got from her mother. 

Once they had reached the car park where a dozen other men dressed in black suits stood waiting for Faye to be brought back safely, Malcom let's go of her arm, opening the car door, his hand motioning for her to get in. 

"Why should I?" Faye crosses her arms across her chest. "Why should I not just turn around and go back up stairs to be with my friends?" She fake pouts, a smile on her face. 

"Because your mother is livid." Malcom stresses. 

"She's always livid. Especially with me." She scoffs. "Nothing new." 

"She called the authorities. Your so called friends are about to be busted, and I'm sure you don't want to stick around for that." 

"Busted?" Her eyes go wide. "She seriously called the cops? What a bitch!" 

"A video of you snorting coke off of, some table, was posted online and it took all but two seconds for the video to be brought to your mothers attention." He sighs. "And by the look of your eyes it wasn't a fake. You need to get in the car. Now." He sterns, reaching for her arm, only to have her quickly snatch it away and climb into the backseat herself, slouching against the leather seats. 

Her mother had known she had done drugs before. It hadn't been the first time she had been caught high or someone posted a photo of her smoking a joint. But she knew this would have great repercussions. Her mother was sure to lose it now. 

But yet as they drove towards her home, her blood shot eyes gazing out of the window at the passing buildings and bright lights that burned her irises, she couldn't help but smile. Her mother was livid with her. She had upset her. Embarrassed her, she was sure. And it made her happy. 

When they arrived at home, Faye couldn't hide the wide smile she had as she walked through the White House doors. Malcom holding onto her arm as she swayed, her heels doing little to keep her drunken stature properly upright. 

Once they reached the living courters her mother was waiting on the other side of the door. Her arms folded against her chest, a look of anger and disbelief on her face. 

"Look what the cat drug in, am I right?" Faye shouted louder than needed, laughing. Pulling her arm from Malcom to wave to her mother as a small child would do. 

Claire underwood was a patient woman at her best. But when it came to her daughter her patients had been running thin. She sighed, pinching the bride of her nose. "Faye. Do you have any regard for anything that you do?" Her voice was calm. 

"I mean, sometimes, maybe." Faye spoke sarcastically, shrugging. 

When their eyes met Faye could see the distinct look of disappointment and shame the woman held for her daughter. It should of upset. But she loved the torturous beauty of it all. 

"Your father may be dead," she starts, gently. "But that does not give you the right, or excuse, to go out and act irresponsibly. You're not a child." Her mothers voice raises. "You're twenty four years old. Not four! You have no right to act like this. No right!" 

Faye can't help but burst into laughter. "No right?" She rolls her eyes. "Right. No right to be in fucking despair because my father just randomly died and no one will tell me the real fucking reason why!" She screams and her mother scowls, her finger in her  
pointed in her face, her temper present now. 

"Do not speak to me like that. Do not raise your voice to me. We are all suffering from your father's death, but we are not going out and drinking, or doing drugs. No. That's not how Underwood's handle their shit!" 

"No. You're right. They handle it by using it as an excuse to be even more of a bitch!" Faye spits out pointedly to her mother. Her words taking her mother back, her eyes growing wide, before turning into anger. A look she had always given frances, her father, when they would fight. 

Faye's mother hardly surprised her, but as she felt the sharp slap that she placed across her cheek, her skin burning and stinging from the strike. She can't help the tears that brim in her eyes. But she doesn't let them fall. She wouldn't give her mother that satisfaction. Instead she smiles and walks away in the direction of her bedroom as her mother looks at her with even more surprise at what she had just done. 

She expects to hear a sorry called out from behind her but she doesn't. Instead she hears her mother speak in a low tone, "go to your room and sober yourself up while we try to fix another one of your messes." 

Faye doesn't let the tears fall until she's in her room. Her back against her door as she cries. Bringing her hands to cover her mouth as she screams. The force of her mothers hand still burning her cheek as hot tears roll down it.

She wasn't sorry for saying what she did. She wasn't sorry for going out. She wasn't sorry for anything. She shouldn't be crying. She shouldn't care. She shouldn't expect more or less from her mother, from anyone. 

She scowls. Her hands balled into fists. She hated her mother. She hated that she was crying like a child right now. She hated that her father was gone. She hated everything. 

Her hands come to push everything off of her vanity in a fit of anger. A frustrated scream echoing throughout her room. Her chest heaving from the adrenaline, from the anger.

She sits herself down on the edge of her bed. Her hands coming to rest on her knees, gripping them as she tries to calm her herself. Focusing on her breathing and stopping the tears from running. 

She doesn't open her eyes when she hears a knock at her door. She's almost positive it is probably her mother, or their maid sent to clean up whatever mess she was sure her mother heard her make. 

"Come in." She says lowly. Her throat burning from her early escapades and her screams. 

She's surprised when she opens up her eyes to see Malcom stood in front of her. She quickly wipes away her tears, a smile forming on her lips, trying to play it off as if she was not just having a breakdown. 

"Are you okay?" He asks softly. His hand comes up to run the back of his fingers along her reddened cheek. She hates that she winces at the contact. His fingers cold in contrast to her heated skin. 

"I'm fine." She lies. 

"She shouldn't of slapped you." He frowns. 

Faye laughs. "I deserved it." She shrugs, "plus it just means I'm getting under her skin, and that my friend is worth it!" 

He sighs at her bluntness, and cups her cheek in his hand staring down at her with soft eyes. 

If this were some romance novel Faye was sure that her and Malcom would end up together. They had fucked each other's brains out many times. Him sneaking into her room late at night while her parents slept, taking detours to fuck her in the backseat of the car. 

It had been a thing for years, this whatever it was. Faye wouldn't call it an arrangement or a benefits thing. But it wasn't more than that either. She didn't have feelings for Malcom. He was a nice guy, had a sweet heart, could kill a man with his bare hands. To any normal woman he would be the perfect guy, husband even.

And if this was a romance novel she was sure she would be in love with him or something. But she wasn't. And she was sure he wasn't in love with her. He was just doing his job, while also having sex with her on the side. He was living a fantasy. 

He did care for her she knew that much to be true. It wasn't hard to tell. But she was sure that's as far as it went, at least for her. 

"You know what would make me feel better?" A smirk forms on her lips as she looks up at him, he doesn't have to question her to know what she's insinuating. Her hands already going to his pants and undoing his belt. 

"Shouldn't you rest?" He sighs, concerned. 

"You're going to help me rest." She winks at him and he laughs softly. It doesn't take much convincing for him to be on top of her, his hands making quick work to shed her from her clothes. 

Hiding her emotions and problems with sex is a habit Faye could never quite learn to kick. 

She wasn't addicted to drugs, she wasn't addicted to sex, even if it felt amazing to have Malcom's hands around her neck and mouth all over her body. 

No she wasn't an addict to anything. 

Except the self torture she put upon herself just to cause her mother a little bit of pain. In that case, she was a full blown addict.


	2. Lights, Camera, Lie

Lying was something that came easy to Faye Underwood. She had learnt from a young age that lying was only bad when it got someone else hurt, or when it caused a mess of things and chain of events and rumors and gossip that could taint the Underwood name. She had heard her father tell a many of lies to people who worked for them, people who hated them, and her mother. She had also heard her mother tell the same amount of lies to the point where Faye didn’t know if anything her parents ever said was truth or fiction. But she did know when her father talked to her he always told her the truth. She never saw a faltering look, or crease of his forehead, nor brow, and he always kept eye contact with her. He always engaged in the moment with her, he was present and he never lied. Not to his little Faye Bug. But when it came to her mother lying to her that was something she made a habit of, to the point where Faye doesn’t remember the last time she actually believed her mother. Her mother had told her before that she wasn’t entitled to the truth because the lies are what keep her safe. 

So to say Faye was born into having the ability to lie and being damn good at it would be completely accurate. Lying was easy. So was the truth. But some truths she liked to ignore, most truths about herself. About her father. Faye could tell a lie with a the best convincing smile on her face, but when it came to telling the truth about herself, or harbored feelings, she would cower like a scared dog. And Faye hated seeming weak. She wasn’t weak. She was strong. Like her father. So, lying was better than any ounce of weakness that could possibly show from her telling the truth. Lying was what she knew best. Facing her inner truths was not. 

So when her mother tells her that she will be doing an interview to make a public statement on the video that had leaked of her, and for her rebellious activity as the presidents daughter, her having no choice what so ever in the manner; she’s not completely surprised when her mother writes her up queue cards on what to say, every sentence on them starting and ending with a lie. 

Having your daughter labeled as a partying druggy was not good for any parent, but especially when you were the president. And since word had gotten out and the video spread like wild fire, the backlash and tabloids were all being aimed at her mother for being a shit mother and letting this happen. 

“Claire Underwood, Bad President, Even Worse Mother!” Faye read allowed as she held onto one of the many magazines that had took part in slandering her mother. “I want to get this one framed.” She grinned. 

“Be nice.” Penelope, the makeup and hair stylist who had been doing the Underwood’s makeup and hair for as long as Faye could remember, warned. Her mother liked having her own team. Her own personal person. She never allowed for any interviewers or talk shows hired artists to touch her. They didn’t know how she liked things. What she looked good in. The would make her look like a cow and call it a masterpiece. So her mother had hired her own team, much like most royal families, or rich families had. And Penelope Richmond had become a staple in the Underwood family, and she had grown quite the friendship with Faye. 

“What? I think it would make the perfect piece to hang up on my wall. It’s a conversational piece, and it would bring me much joy to wake up to it.” Faye teases. 

“No doubt that it would.” Penelope sighs, scattering to the left and the right of Faye trying to get her eye makeup as perfect as one can when you’re dealing with drowsy eyes and after effects of drugs. “Your mother is trying her best, you know.” 

“Penelope! The betrayal!” Faye fakes hurt and frowns. 

“I’m not here to take sides just do your makeup!” 

“How’s it coming?” Faye asks, trying to catch a glimpse in the mirror that’s beside them. “Do I look like the perfect Mary-Sue?” 

“As much as one can with dealing with a hangover that’s lasted three days.” Her words are pointed and with a scowl. 

“What? Who knew the after effects of drugs could be so long?” 

“You do. This is not your first rodeo remember? And it’s not mine having to clean up your face.” She shakes her head. “You’re so beautiful Faye, I don’t know why you’d want any of those toxic things to enter your body, wrinkle your skin, make you look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

Faye shrugs. “Got to do something to pass by the time right?” She smiles when Penelope rolls her eyes at her. 

Penelope had done many cover ups for Faye. Many royal dinners, and proms and events where the young girl had been coming off of something, or she looked like crap from crying all night over something. She had fixed the girl up so she looked brand new. She had called it a mask for the beast until Faye’s beautiful face made it’s return. She had always reprimanded the girl for whatever had caused her blood shot eyes and puffy skin, always saying how she was ruining a good thing: her beauty, her youth. How she wasn’t sticking it to the man or her mother, but to herself. “At the end of the day you had to live with yourself Faye, your mother, your father they can always go away. But you, you stay.” She would say and it would hit every cord in the pit of Faye’s stomach and she would wash it down with lies and fake laughter. 

But today her mother had made it adamant that she look the part she was trying to play: the perfect presidents daughter. 

“You’ve really out done yourself this time P,” Faye musters up a small smile as she looks at her brand new face. Minimal makeup, and the perfect straight out of a this is what a good daughters supposed to look like hair catalog. She looked younger. Innocent almost. 

And the outfit her mother had picked out for her was what really would it all. An off white dress that came just below her knees, with a floral pattern around the collar, and a baby blue sweater for her to wear over that was only buttoned once at the top. She looked like she belonged in the pew’s of a church and not about to give a statement on her drug use. 

Her mother had really out done herself on selling the dutiful daughter look. 

“Have you gone over the index cards your mother gave to you?” Mark asks as Faye is ushered into the living area, the interviewer and her team already set up and ready to go. Their eyes scan her and some smile as if they are happy to see her and be in the presences of the presidents daughter. Others avert their eyes or make hushed comments. Faye tries to act as if she does not care, nor pay them any mind as she sits on the couch opposite of the interviewer. The bright lights already making her sweat. 

“Yes. Front and back, word for word, studied real hard!” Faye speaks with a fake enthusiasm. 

It makes Mark look around nervously and then bend to her ear level, speaking only so the two of them can hear. “Now is not the time to throw a fit against your mother.” He warns and Faye tries not to roll her eyes. “She is in deep shit because of this, it could stop a lot of things from happening, could make voters and congress look at your mother as if she were a fool.” 

“Well, if the shoe fits maybe she should wear it.” Faye gives him a winning smile. 

He sighs frustrated. Mark Usher wasn’t a bad man, at least not to Faye. She hardly knew him, only through her father and her mother, and now even more since he was the Vice President. But she hadn’t really gotten to know him like her parents did. Sure they spoke and he would chide her for acting like a child when she should be acting like an adult who’s every word and movement matters no matter how small or big. And since her father had died Faye had noticed his sympathy for her and tried to play that missing part for her, something she wished he would stop doing. She had only one father in this world and he was gone. No one could take his place. Not in her life or in her heart. 

“Faye, please. This can be trouble for you too. It’s not just about saving your mother’s ass.” 

“Well it feels like that.” 

“Well it’s not. Stop thinking about your god damn childish hatred for your mother and fix your problem.” Mark says sternly and stands back up and walks over to where her mother is standing in the corner of the room chatting with another one of her advisors. 

Faye hates the way his words sting. How she wants to lash back but knows that it won’t do any good, other than giving her ten seconds of satisfaction. She hated making things easier for her mother. She didn’t make things easier for her. So to put her in a situation where she had to have all of america kissing her ass and begging them for forgiveness, just so her mother could get some peace and quiet and make things easier for her, made her sick. It made her angry. 

After her father had died the woman had done little to make it easier for her. Her words and fake touches and sympathetic looks did little to fool her. She wasn’t a fool. But now she had to go on national television and play her mothers fool. 

“So, Faye, you obviously know why we’re here and what everyone in America is dying to know.” The interviewer said with a grin. She was as cliché as an interviewer could look. Blonde hair, lot’s of makeup, pencil thin skirt, looking like an e!news wannabe. 

“I’m sure everyone in America is dying to know a lot of things.” Faye smiles. “But I understand why I’m the things their most interested in, yes.” She gives the cameras a playful giggle. 

“Yes, well,” the interviewer laughs softly. “Tell us, was the video real? Was that really you? And if so tell us what exactly was going on in said video.” 

“I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on in the video, no amount of video configuration could fool anyone on that.” Faye answers sarcastically and she can see her mother shooting her a warning look in her peripheral vision. It makes her smile. “So the video was real yes, and it was me.” 

“And, why were you doing what you were doing in the video?” The blonde presses. 

Images and mantra’s of what her mother had written down for her to say go through her head. Of course she had the memorized and of course she knows she needs to say them, she should say them. But as she is looking around the room and to her mother, and the words of Penelope and Mark replaying in her head she doesn’t want to say them. She doesn’t want to tell America a lie. It would be simple and a lot easier for her to tell the lies her mother had written down for her. It would make her mother happy, and it would probably make America happy. And Faye would live with it. Like she does everything. But Faye is not happy. She hasn’t been happy since her father’s passing. She can’t remember a time where she smiled because she felt joy. She smiled for lies. She smiled to fool people. To fool herself. And the feeling of realization almost makes her want to vomit. Almost makes her want to run away and hide. Faye didn’t feel realization. She felt false pretenses, lies, and vengeful feelings. 

She didn’t know if it was the bright lights making her brain go crazy and short circuit or if she had actually listened to someone else’s words other than her own toxic ones, and they actually made sense to her. 

And she was sure it would make her mother angry. Livid. Pissed even. And she was sure she would hear about it for centuries. But for once in her life Faye didn’t want to lie.

“I know everyone wants me to say something simple as I just wanted to, or because I like to party and have a good time, or that drugs are cool to me. Or something made up like that.” Faye starts and she can already see the color draining from her mothers face and Marks deflating look. “But, it’s a lot more complex than that.” 

“How so?” 

Faye feels her nerves come to life. A feeling the sometimes obnoxious, more times not caring and outgoing girl barely feels. She tries not to fidget or to play with her fingers. Straightens her back and she smiles. “I was sad.” 

The interviewer’s brows knit in a confusing manner, her eyes dart from some of the people in the room and even shoot back to look at Claire. “Sad?” The interviewer laughs a little. “I don’t think being sad is a complex thing, nor is it a reasoning to partake in illegal activity.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Faye shuts her down. Her smile never leaving her face. “Being sad is more than just crying. It’s more than just feeling, well, sad.” 

“And What had made you feel this sadness, to the point where it was, as you say complex, and made you partake in these activities?” 

And if Faye was going to hate herself for anything later it was going to be this. The way her face drops, her confident smile turning into that of a frown. Her bottom lip wobbling slightly as she spoke. The tears burning her eyes as she refuses to let them fall. “My father’s passing.” 

The mood in the room shifts. Everyone notices it. People flash sympathetic looks to another and to Faye. They look to Claire weary and even her mother has a face of shock and sadness etched over her features. Something that surprises Faye. 

“So, your father’s passing, which we are all so sorry about, and broke our hearts to hear of his passing,” Faye wants to roll her eyes at the fake sympathetic tone. “Is what caused you to go into this sadness that lead into what happened in the video, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“But, some might argue that a death of a loved one and being sad over it is not an excuse to act reckless and to do illegal narcotics.” 

“You’re right. Some would argue that. But those some have clearly never felt great loss then.” Faye argues. “The loss of your best friend. The loss of someone who has raised you your entire life, who has shown you the way, your path, who has been there every single day you wake and go to bed.” Faye can feel the tears running before she can catch them, and she hates herself for it. “You don’t just feel sad over that loss. You don’t just get over it. Something within you dies with them. It leaves a hole so big inside of you that nothing but that person coming back to life can close it. Can make this sadness, that ultimately feels like a sickness, stop from growing inside of you. So you do stupid stuff. You try and find things to numb that pain. To make the hole go away anyway you can, wether that be you take up a hobby, learn a trade, or in this case, snort a thousand dollars worth of cocaine up your nose.” Faye can hear people take in breaths and whispered ‘oh my gods’, but it doesn’t stop the feelings that are spilling from her. “Sadness is complex. Everyone deals with it differently, some in a good way, some in a bad way. Me?” Faye sniffs and uses her fingertips to blot her tears. “I did it a bad way. A stupid way, and it didn’t make me feel any better. No amount of drug can do that for a person. I made a mistake, like most people do everyday. And to argue that you can’t blame that mistake on sadness is ignorance. Because you obviously have never felt great pain, and I hope you never do. Pain and sadness make people do crazy things. I did a crazy thing. I don’t expect people to forgive me or to think I’m the best daughter the world has ever seen. But I am sorry. To my father for not being as strong as he would of wanted me to be, and to my mother for putting her through even more sadness than my father’s passing has already caused her.” 

The room is dead silent except for the sound of Faye sniffing and wiping her tears. The interviewer even shows a sign of sorrow and wipes at her eyes. Wether it’s real or not Faye cannot tell. 

The interview ends with the blonde thanking Faye for being honest with America, something some do not know how to do. And a few miscellaneous questions about good times with her father and mother that have the two fake laughing and putting on a good happy ending. 

Once Faye has been stripped from her mic and has said her mandatory goodbyes to the interviewer, she leaves the room and is ushered into her mothers office. 

Her mother leans against her desk, her arms crossed across her chest. Her face is that of disappointment and Faye doesn’t care to look at her. 

“I specifically told you to say whatever you had to to make this mess go away.” Her mothers voice is stern and aggravated. 

“You wanted me to lie.” 

“Yes! I did! Because lying was the only way that was going to make you not look like a drugged out party animal!” Her mother screams. 

“You wanted me to lie so you looked good! You don’t give a shit if I looked good or not. You just wanted the press to leave you alone, you wanted things to go away so you could continue your amazing work as president.” Faye spits back. 

“Yes! Part of me did. And yes that is selfish of me. But when you have a daughter who doesn’t know how to act her age and only causes a mess everywhere she goes how can you blame me?” 

Faye’s chest tightens and she can feel the anger building up inside of her. She has to clench her first, digging her nails into her palm, to stop herself from screaming. To stop herself from breaking down. 

“Faye.” Her mother sighs, trying to calm her own self down. “I love you, and I know how much your father’s passing has hurt you and has made you view me as the enemy–“ 

“I’ve always viewed you as the enemy.” Faye spits. A scowl on her face. 

Her mother frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not the enemy. You are my daughter, who I care about so much. I don’t want to see you ruin your life. Just because you are the daughter of the president does not mean your life can’t be ruined. That changes and opportunities and parts of yourself can not be taken away.” Her mom holds her hand to her chest as if she’s spilling her heart out. But it only makes Faye turn away from her. She doesn’t want to hear it. “I want you to have every chance in life so you can one day take my place. Become president. Make me, and your father, proud. But that won’t happen if you keep acting like this. When your father was here he would clean up your messes and smile while he did it. His Faye,” she scoffed softly. “She could never do any wrong.” Her moms demeanor changes back into authoritative. “But I am not your father. And I will not coddle you. You either do your duty and act the way you should be acting, or from here on out you can deal with your own messes and if they take you down,” She shrugs. “Then they take you down. I will no longer hold out my hand for you. You will receive no help from me and you will drown in your mess. Is that clear?” 

Faye feels hurt and she hates that she does so. Giving her mother the satisfaction of getting under her skin and hurting her feelings is not something she will ever admit, not herself, and especially not to her mother. 

“Yes, mother.” Faye says simply. She has to bite her tongue to not spit out more words and arguments. This one has to die out. This one she doesn’t know if she can win. 

A knock at the door has Faye changing her whole demeanor, and when Mark walks in she’s rolling her eyes. 

“Madame President,” 

“Yes, Mark, what is it?” Her mother clasps her hands and holds them out in front of her as she waits for him to speak. 

“I know the interview did not goes as any of us had hoped it would.” Mark shoots Faye a look and she musters up her best fake smile. “But,” he turns back to Claire. “The response has been good.” 

“Good?” Her mother looks very surprised. “How so?” 

“It seems America loves a good truth more than they do a lie.” He pulls out his phone and hands it to her. “America loves a grieving woman as a, lost, grieving daughter more, and one that admits her fuck ups even more.” He presses his lips together and looks to Faye with sympathy in his eyes. 

She turns her head and heads for the door. Taking it upon herself to end her and her mothers conversation and save herself from hearing anymore about how weak she is. 

“See mother,” she begins as she opens the door turning back to give her mother a grin. “Telling the truth can be good, maybe you should try it sometime.” And with that she shuts the door behind her before she can let her mother get another word in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited so sorry for mistakes! 
> 
> feed back is always welcome!!

**Author's Note:**

> feed back would be great!!


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